Home
by Eliana Panthera
Summary: //He knew that he could stop any time, that Jackson and his friends wouldn't have followed him this far. But he was filled with an undying energy, an energy that kept him from wanting to stop.//


**Title: **Home

**Genre: **Angst

**Characters: **Nico DiAngelo

**Rating: **T for language

**Summary: **//He knew that he could stop any time, that Jackson and his friends wouldn't have followed him this far. But he was filled with an undying energy, an energy that kept him from wanting to stop.//

**Author's Note: **I only proofread through this once, so there may be typos. Sorry about that. This is my first time writing Nico, so I hope you all enjoy.

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Nico sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him. He knew that he could stop any time, that Jackson and his friends wouldn't have followed him this far. But he was filled with an undying energy, an energy that kept him from wanting to stop. If he stopped, his thoughts would catch up and the agonizing hole in his chest would grow wider. He could almost feel blood spreading slowly across the front of his shirt, as if the pain were caused by a real wound.

Realization of who he was had hit so hard that it had almost knocked the air from his body. He was no longer Nico DiAngelo, little dyslexic/ADHD boy who was obsessed with stupid playing cards. He was Nico DiAngelo, son of Hades, the boy who could control the dead. It was an exhilarating feeling—he was finally _someone_.

Bianca would have been happy that he was no longer a nobody.

Bianca.

Nico skidded to a halt, the energy disappearing like a leaf being carried away on the wind. Bianca was gone, and Nico would never see her again. And it was all Percy Jackson's fault.

"Percy Freaking Jackson," Nico snarled at the trees. He was surprised by the amount of venom his voice held, and had the urge to look down and see if the acid in his tone had dripped past his lips and stained his clothes. He had never been this angry before. The feeling was painfully new, and Nico whirled on his left heel and punched a tree, "Damn it!"

He had never used those words before. Bianca and any adults around would have killed him for using 'inappropriate language.' But there were no adults, and definitely no Bianca. He could do and say what he wanted, and no one could stop him.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" He yelled, startling a bird out of a nearby bush. He punched the tree again, over and over. Anger numbed his body, and he let out another furious yell before he slid to the ground.

Pain washed over him, and he studied his knuckles. They were a mess of blood and splinters, and Nico closed his eyes tightly. All he wanted to do now was cry and curl up under the sheets in a warm bed—where no one could find him.

The only place he could think have that would have a warm bed that he could hide in was Camp Half-Blood. And there was no way he was going back there. Not while Percy Jackson was there. Not while they would shun him for being who he was. Nico knew that the other demigods wouldn't take well at _all _to a son of Hades.

Darkness began to settle like a soft blanket over the forest. Nico found the mist hugging closely to his body, found his skin growing as pale as the moon itself. He was no longer Nico DiAngelo. He was really a son of Hades now.

He didn't know whether to be frightened or ecstatic. Swallowing thickly, he rose to his feet and walked slowly through the forest. He had nowhere to go. He had no money. He was too young to drive. Nico was lost and alone.

Surprisingly, he didn't mind it. All he wanted was to be alone, away from people. He couldn't trust people anymore. They knew nothing about him, and they cared nothing about him. And he had always been mentally lost. How different could it be to be physically lost for once?

Nico wasn't sure how long he walked aimlessly through the woods, but the moon was high in the sky when he stumbled upon a pond. Frowning, he used the silver glow of the moon as a light as he looked in the water.

His reflection glared back at him, almost completely unfamiliar. His lips were almost as pale as his near-white skin, and his hair was a dark gray ash-y color. It looked as though someone had taken a black crayon and drawn dark rings under his eyes. Absentmindedly, Nico licked his fingers and rubbed them under his eyes, trying to wipe away the marks. They made his eyes look sunken, and rubbing at them just made them darken even more.

Nico shivered, even though it wasn't that cold. He looked strangely…dead. He looked older, scarier, more tired. He looked nothing like the innocent, clueless little boy he had been a few days ago.

Peeling his lips back from his teeth in a furious snarl, Nico let out an angry yell and grabbed a pebble that lay beside his feet and through it at his reflection. It broke through the water as though it were glass, shattering the image into a million pieces. Nico turned and walked away before it could reform. He didn't want to see himself. He didn't want to see how different he was. He didn't want to think about who he had been before. All of the thoughts and memories were swirling rapidly in his brain, confusing him and giving him a serious headache.

Nico lifted his hand, and the ground opened up before him. Swallowing thickly, his back straightened and he squared his shoulders.

"Home," he whispered, his voice as cold as his eyes, "Time to go home." With that, he turned his back on the mortal world and stepped into the land where he belonged.

Home, indeed.

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